


Kingdom of Fools

by silverstorms



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, M/M, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, SnowBaz, and nerds, fairytale AU, possible pegatha, simon and baz are princes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstorms/pseuds/silverstorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairytale!AU in which Agatha is Sleeping Beauty, Simon and Baz are princes who are both supposed to awaken her with True Love's Kiss, and Penny is the powerful and mysterious Hedgewitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for checking out Kingdom of Fools. Hope you like it!

Even before the letter arrived, Prince Simon was having a terrible day.

His morning had begun (as his mornings so frequently did) when a large man wielding an axe burst through the door of his bedchamber and attempted to remove his head from his neck.

Simon’s eyes flew open just in time for him to see the thick blade descending towards his exposed throat, and he was unable to stop himself from letting out a strangled scream. His sword, lying sheathed on the bedside table, was just out of reach, and he would have never reached it in time anyways.

The blade stopped half-an-inch above his skin, and the large, bearded man frowned down at him. “You’re dead, my lord.” With that, he lifted his axe, moving it away from Simon’s throat, turned around, and retreated from the bedchamber.

Simon closed his eyes and slumped against his pillows, willing his heart to stop pounding so hard. There were few things in the world he hated more than his father’s wake-up calls. No matter how many fake assassins King Davy sent after him, his response was never satisfactory. He always woke up moments too late, or-- when he managed to get out of his bed and grab his sword fast enough-- was too sleepy to fight back properly.

He could almost hear his father’s voice, echoing in his mind. _You can do better, Simon. You’re just not applying yourself._

Gritting his teeth, Simon pushed his thoughts aside and rolled out of bed. Maybe if he got a good head start on the rest of his duties, it wouldn’t matter so much that he’d begun the day with yet another failure.

x x x

 But the day had not improved much from there on out. First, there’d been news of yet another Pitch raid-- just a small town near the northern border, but still. Then there’d been the weekly King’s Court, where peasants came forward and presented their disputes to King Davy. As always, his father expected Simon to come up with his own responses to the disputes, and as always, his responses were deemed unsatisfactory.

Even lunch (which was generally Simon’s favorite time of day) was ruined by the presence of the Hedgewitch, who seemed to make an appearance at mealtime only with the intent of staring at Simon menacingly, as she never actually ate anything.

She was a short, curvy girl with dark hair and a tendency towards bizarre patchwork dresses, not the sort of person one would usually find intimidating. But she was a Hedgewitch (quite a powerful one, too, if the rumors were to be believed) and so Simon was wary of her. Simon didn’t like magic. It made his nose itch.

Eventually, Simon grew tired of her staring and left the dining hall, heading in the direction of the sparring grounds. Swordfighting always helped him blow off steam, after all, and when he was properly awake, he was actually quite good at it.

But before he reached the sparring grounds, a small page boy sprinted up to him. His face was red, his hair rumpled, and he was clearly out of breath as he wheezed “Prince-- Simon-- my lord--.”

“What is it?” said Simon, frowning slightly.

“There’s been-- a letter--,” said the page boy. “An important letter. His Majesty, King Davy of the Snowlands, requests your immediate presence in his throne room.”

“Of course he does,” muttered Simon. Fighting the urge to swear, he quickly handed the page boy a coin and thanked him. Looking relieved, the boy scurried off.

For a moment, Simon stayed where he was, his back pressed against the sharp, cold stone wall of his father’s castle. Sometimes it seemed to him that every single thing he touched was his father’s in some way: the bread he ate for breakfast, the stones he tossed into the river, the sword that hung by his side… everything in the Snowlands belonged to King Davy. Including Simon himself.

Then Simon shook himself out of his reverie and set off down the hall. There was no point to _thinking_ about it, after all. In the end, he would heed his father’s call, no matter what. He always did.

x x x

“Agatha’s been _what_?”

“ _Princess_ Agatha, heir apparent to the throne of our greatest allies, the kingdom of Wellbelove has, regrettably, fallen under a spell.”

“A curse,” said Simon, staring, bewildered, at his father. King Davy, sitting solidly on his throne, was emotionless as ever. “She’s been cursed?”

He’d known there was a reason he didn’t like magic.

“What… what happened, exactly?” said Simon, swallowing hard. His throat felt very dry. “Why would anyone want to curse _Agatha_?”

King Davy looked intensely displeased. “Why, indeed?” Many people might think the king’s words were nothing more than a rhetorical question, but Simon recognized them for exactly what they were: a test.

“I…” He wracked his mind for some sort of reason. “Maybe she… offended someone?” Even as he said them, the words sounded ridiculous. Princess Agatha of Wellbelove, golden-haired and blue-eyed, gracious and kind, elegant, loving, beautiful, _good_ … it wasn’t possible. She spoke to everyone with kindness, with grace.

She was already more of a queen than Simon would ever be a king, that much was certain.

“Use your _head,_ boy!” the King snapped. The few courtiers scattered throughout the throne room shifted uncomfortably, and with an impatient wave of his hand, he released them from his service. Looking relieved, they all scurried towards the exits. No one enjoyed watching the current king shout at the future one, Simon knew-- but no one could _stop_ it either.

Simon bit down on his lower lip. _Think._ “Rogue fairies,” he said. “Or…”

“ _Are you a total imbecile_ ?” shouted the king, slamming his scepter onto the gray stone floor. The impact vibrated through the room, and Simon flinched. “Think! _Who is our enemy?_ ”

Of course.

“The-- the kingdom of Pitch, sir. Father. Your Highness.” Simon stumbled over his words and bit down on his lip again. This time, he tasted blood. “They are our enemies.”

“ _Yes_ ,” said the King. “The nature of this curse is simple. The princess sleeps until her _true love_ kisses her on the lips and awakens her.”

Simon nodded slowly.

“Well, boy? How would the Pitches benefit from that?”

“I… if her true love never comes, the king and queen lose their heir?”

“ _No_ ,” said the King, his voice now dangerously low. “Have you forgotten their princeling?”

Prince Basilton. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. Two years earlier, King Davy and King Malcolm had met to discuss a possible treaty, and Prince Basilton had bested Simon in a sword fight. He’d used trickery, of course, for Pitchlings had no honor, but that hadn’t mattered to King Davy. Simon could still remember the disappointment in his father’s eyes after his sparring match with Prince Basilton. And of course, the treaty had fallen through-- and ever since, the Pitchlings raided the Snowlands’ borders relentlessly.

“No, I remember, but--”

“And what might happen, _boy_ , if the Pitch boy reaches the princess and awakens her from her enchanted sleep?”

Simon stared. “You think _Prince Basilton_ is Agatha’s true love?”

“ _What would happen_?”

Simon swallowed and wished he could be anywhere else in the world but his father’s throne room. “I… I suppose it would be… it would… they would…”

His father’s eyes, angry and disappointed, burned into his skin, and he knew he had failed whatever test his father wanted him to pass.

Then a voice cut through the heavy silence.

“Marriage,” it said. “A marriage alliance would happen, that’s what.”

Simon jumped. He’d been certain that the throne room was empty, but as he watched, a new figure emerged from behind one of the pillars. A girl, with thick, dark hair and a ragged patchwork skirt, a collection of silk scarves trailing down her skin. The Hedgewitch.

“What are you doing here?” he said, blinking at her.

She folded her arms across her chest and met his eyes, steadily. “Watching,” she said. “Listening.” Her eyes flickered over to the king, and her mouth curled with distaste.

“The witch is correct,” said King Davy, sitting back down on his throne and pinning his glare on Simon once again. “If Prince Basilton succeeds in waking the Princess Agatha from her accursed sleep, she will almost certainly become his bride.”

“Which is hardly fair to _her_ ,” said the Hedgewitch, looking intensely displeased with the king’s statement. “I’m sure she’d like some more say in her marriage than _that._ She’s asleep, for pity’s sake.”

“A marriage alliance,” said King Davy, ignoring her completely, “could be very bad for the Snowlands. We need Wellbelove on our side.”

Simon nodded hastily. “Right. Of course.”

“And so,” said the King, “the solution is simple.” He leaned forward. “ _You_ , my son, must reach the princess first.”

“ _Me_?”

“You must win her hand in marriage-- and with it, the alliance with the Wellbelove kingdom,” said Simon’s father, eyes flashing.

“I haven’t seen Agatha in years--”

“You will leave in the morning,” said King Davy. He eyed his son and shook his head, disappointment clear on every inch of his face. “With a guard, seeing as we need you _alive_ for this.”

Simon knew what his father was saying then, though he didn’t articulate it in clear terms. _We need you alive-- and clearly, you won’t survive the journey on your own, if you can’t stop an assassin from murdering you in your sleep._

It was just another way for his father to express his disappointment, another reminder that Simon was inadequate son and an inadequate prince.

“Father,” said Simon, surprised at the urgency in his own voice. “This shouldn’t wait. Let me go now, tonight, on my own, so that I’m harder to track. I’ll bring my sword--”

“No,” said the King, with a sharp gesture of his hand.

Simon’s shoulders slumped, but he pressed onward. “I can survive on my own. I can prove to you--”

“Prove to me?” said the king, his voice a low growl once again. “You have had thousands of chances to prove yourself to me, _boy_. I will not be disappointed again.”

“I won’t--”

“Go,” he said, gesturing towards the doors of the throne room. And Simon knew that there was nothing left to be said or done.

He turned on his heel and left the room without looking back, without bowing to his father-- a risky move, he knew, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. His head was pounding with a mixture of rage and exhaustion, and all he really want to was climb into bed, bury himself there, and sleep for several hundred years-- _without_ anyone trying to assassinate him in his sleep.

So he didn’t look back. But if he had-- if he’d spun around for just a moment-- he would have seen one very angry Hedgewitch, glaring at the king with sharp, piercing eyes, her hands balled into fists.

x x x

 It took three hours of swordplay for Simon to work out all of his resentment. Hitting, slashing, and stabbing never failed to make him feel better, even on days filled with curses and his father’s disappointment. By the time he was done sparring with the others on the training grounds, he was sweaty and bone-tired, but resigned.

He would do as his father said. He would get up in the morning and sit in the stupid gilded carriage and ride all the way to Agatha’s castle, restlessly chewing on his fingernails the whole way there, and then he’d kiss Agatha and probably marry her and maybe then his father wouldn’t be quite as disappointed. Or maybe his father would simply give up and let Simon live out his days with his sword in hand, beating up dummies in the training grounds.

Either way, there was little he could do to change his fate. So he did one of the very few things he could still do:  returned to his rooms, took a hot bath, and tumbled into bed. In that single, solitary moment, as Prince Simon drifted off to sleep, everything was fine.

But as always, that blissfully peaceful moment did not last long.

x x x

 It was close to midnight when a girl in ragged skirts began the long climb from the muddy rose garden to Prince Simon’s window. The castle wall was made of smooth, solid granite, which would have been nearly impossible to climb if not for the trailing green ivy that crept up it. It was a difficult climb, and her hands were aching by the time she reached the top, but there was very little that could deter her once she put her mind to something.

Once at the top, she perched on the prince’s windowsill and build her lockpicks out of the hidden pocket in her skirt.  She could have used magic to pick the lock, of course, but her magic had a bad habit of waking people up, and she didn’t want to rouse the prince-- not yet, at least.

With that thought in mind, she made sure to be quiet as she slid in through the window and onto the floor of Prince Simon’s room. Though she doubted much could rouse him so late at night, as Prince Simon was-- notoriously-- a very heavy sleeper. The girl could not blame him, although she preferred to sleep as little as possible, for a prince’s life is quite exhausting.. But it was with little regret that she bounded onto his bed and yanked the covers off of his sleeping body. She knew he’d like to hear what she had to say.

x x x

Simon awoke with a jolt, to the distinct feeling that something was deeply wrong. He was shivering in the chilly winter air, but he was certain he’d gone to sleep with multiple blankets, and why was the window open, anyways?

Slowly, he peeled his eyes open and very nearly screamed at the sight of a person-- _sitting on his bed_ \-- with their unblinking eyes only inches from his own.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said the Hedgewitch. “Get up! There’s no time to waste.”

“What are you doing here?” hissed Simon, scrambling into a sitting position.

The Hedgewitch grinned. “Kidnapping you, I suppose. Or escorting you. Now come on. We’ve got quite a journey ahead of us.”

“I-- _journey_? Where are we going?” In his sleepy state, it did not occur to Simon to question the witch’s authority. She had magic, after all.

The Hedgewitch grinned. “To wake the sleeping princess, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to hit me up with questions/fic requests/general screaming about Simon and Baz on tumblr @ichooseyousimonsnow.


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